


Hogmanay Hauntings

by preciouslittleingenue



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fergus is Jamie's son, Wee Invisible Ghosties, in which I confront DG's adoption-phobia, period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciouslittleingenue/pseuds/preciouslittleingenue
Summary: Jamie is broken beyond repair, even years after sending Claire away with their unborn child. Hogmanay rolls around again, and Jamie cannot bring himself to celebrate with the family he has left...until he is visited by three spirits.A Christmas Carol/Outlander Mash-Up for 12 Days of OL Ficmas.
Comments: 70
Kudos: 156
Collections: Twelve Days OL Ficmas





	1. Past: Creideamh

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: My entry for the 12 Days of OL Ficmas!
> 
> Thank you endlessly to my hoors and to Brittany for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off of y’all! Couldn’t have done it all in time without you!

“No.”

It was a grunt, a growl, a snarl, perhaps all three.

“For Christ’s sake, brother, ye didna even let me finish,” Jenny huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“I didna need ye to,” he snapped. “I’m no’ going.”

“And why no’? If no one is in danger, can ye even think of another reason to no’ go?”

“Ye canna guarantee safety, and ye ken it.”

“Jamie, it’s been four years since Culloden. We havena had any _visitors_ in a year! The villagers said the harassment has lightened considerably,” she reasoned. “The tenants miss their Laird, Jamie.”

“I’m _not_ their Laird.”

Jenny flinched a bit at the coldness. “Aye, I ken. But they do still see ye as such. Ye’re their hero whether ye like it or not.” She paused, moving her hands from her hips and crossing her arms over her chest. “And the tenants arena the only people that feel that way.”

“What d’ye mean?” He was still staring at the dirt between his feet, still refusing to look at her.

“The lad,” she said, her voice softening. “ _Your_ lad.”

_Your adopted boy._

_She_ had called him that.

“He’s...no,” Jamie said hoarsely. “He isna mine.”

 _I have no children_.

“Christ, Jamie,” her voice regained the bite it had lost. “Try telling that to him.”

“What d’ye mean by such?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Ye’re no’ the only one that lost her.”

He stood up abruptly, propelled by boiling rage exploding in his blood.

“I’ll no’ be intimidated by yer pathetic excuse fer a towering bear.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Claire was — ”

“ _Don’t say her name_.”

“ — the only mother the lad ever knew. And ye ken it well,” she went on as if uninterrupted. “There was no need fer him to be orphaned entirely. Yet here we are.”

Jamie growled with rage, shoving over one of his piles of books, sending them flying all about. He should not have been surprised that Jenny would turn asking about Hogmanay into throwing _her_ into his face.

“Fine,” Jenny said calmly, unaffected by his tantrum. “Suit yourself.” She hiked up her skirts and made to leave, but paused at the entrance of the cave, turning around again. “Christ, Jamie...I ken ye have sorrow. And I only wanted to bring ye a bit of happiness. I ken how much the holiday meant to ye when we were bairns. And it’s the grandest party we can afford since the rising.”

Jamie was momentarily seized by guilt, remembering the sad holiday they’d had last year. After Caitlin. Jenny had been grief stricken nearly to the point of no return, and Ian had suggested they not have a party at all. But she’d picked herself back up and thrown together whatever they could afford at the last minute. For the children, perhaps; they’d already lost enough. But for herself, as well. It had always been important to her, too, Hogmanay. And Jamie knew it.

“I just...I miss my _brother_. This…” She gestured to his hunched, ragged form, the cramped quarters of his cave, “isna my brother.”

“ _This_ ,” Jamie bit back bitterly, “exists to keep the rest of ye safe.”

“One night, Jamie. That’s all. But if ye canna bring yerself to quit yer wallowing...suit yourself.” She turned again, and then she was gone.

He stood still for a moment, allowing his sister’s enormous presence to truly leave the cave, his chest tight, his fists clenched.

No, he would not go. Not only was it a threat to their safety, no matter how Jenny insisted that she’d insured there would be protection, but his presence was a blight. He would not bring misery to those he loved by dampening their joy on a night meant for rebirth and celebration. 

He had nothing to celebrate, nothing to look forward to in the new year, or any year thereafter.

His future was gone. All that existed was his present, these dark walls, the quiet forest on days where he hunted. And pain. Such...pain.

His future... _her_ future.

For the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her. He thought of _them_. Four years...his bairn would be four years old. Running around with Jenny’s bairns, a child now, not an infant anymore. Claire would struggle to pick up the _child_ , especially if it grew like a Fraser.

 _It_. He’d never know what to call it.

The months he’d spent in the Bastille, not knowing the fate of his wife or child, trapped in his own mind as much as in his cell...he was living there again. Except this time, nobody would come to his rescue, nobody would enlighten him about his child, tell him it was a beautiful girl, what she looked like…

_Ah, my sweet Faith._

And for the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her, too.

Claire and the bairn were not dead, not really. But their loss had felt just as acute as that of his wee lost daughter.

 _I have no children_.

A small scuttling sound jolted him from his reverie, and he sniffled, swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“Uncle Jamie?”

_Christ! How had the bairn…?_

“Milord?”

_Ah._

The smaller voice belonged to the head of strawberry blonde that bobbed into the cave, blue eyes wide.

“Are ye really no’ coming to Hogmanay, Uncle?” she said, her lips full and drawn into a sad frown.

Jamie was always sinfully grateful for the isolation of his cave. It physically pained him to look at the children. Especially wee Maggie. The red hues of her hair, always accentuated in firelight, were far too much like the copper hair he saw in his dreams, copper hair that only Claire had really seen. He couldn’t bear to look at her, at any of the lasses, and think that Faith would have played their wee games with them, and perhaps so would the new bairn, were she a lass. Were he a lad, he’d be traipsing around wee Jamie and Michael.

If he had his own bairn with him, if he had its _mother_ with him...perhaps it would be different.

But that hair, those eyes, that sweet frown...it was too much.

“No. I’m not.”

His voice was far too short and harsh. She was only seven years old.

“But Kitty and I made ye a gift to give ye at midnight.” She twisted her apron in her hands, swaying a bit.

“Yer Ma will give it to me. Dinna come back here, it isna safe.” His eyes flicked up to Fergus, who’d been hanging back to allow this conversation to unfold. “Ye’re a fool to bring her here.”

“She will not remember,” Fergus said. “She was crying, Milord. I thought — ”

“Ye thought wrong. Quit my sight.”

The wee girl sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. He was wracked with guilt at the sound, at the sight. For a split second, he almost fell to his knees and pulled her into him, whispered into her hair, rocked her.

No, he’d fall apart if he did that, and he’d never be able to put himself back together. He’d never be able to let her go.

“Now, Fergus,” Jamie snarled. He couldn’t bear to listen to her anymore. He couldn’t bear to be confronted with the knowledge that he was incapable of bringing a child comfort. Because all of his children had been stolen from him.

“You are a heartless beast,” Fergus said with great disdain. “I do not want you at Hogmanay anyway.” He stepped forward and took Maggie’s hand. “Come, _petit_.”

And they were gone.

 _Aye, lad. I_ am _a heartless beast._

His heart had been gone for four years. Never to return.

——

Jamie was in a deep, heavy sleep. Ian had come by with whisky, not to try and persuade him to come — quite the opposite in fact. He’d essentially encouraged Jamie to get piss drunk alone in the cave, and that was exactly what he’d done. His head had hit the pillow like a stone, and he’d passed out.

A gushing wind roared _inside the cave_ , and it roused him immediately, like a bucket of icy water poured on his head. His eyes shot open just in time to see his singular candle knocked over by the gust, blowing the light out. He lay there in silence for a moment, waiting for the deafening wind to stop. When it did, he counted a few breaths, swallowing thickly.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a deeply ingrained sense of foreboding and dread.

He got up then to re-light the candle; though it was night, sleeping without the light of the moon had always been difficult, even after four years. A candle was a poor substitute, but it had to do.

As he fumbled around blindly, he was aware of something glowing behind him, as if someone had suddenly lit a fire. Yet the color was different, as if the fire were ignited by the moon itself. Brow furrowing, he turned around, and he staggered back at what he saw.

It was a _child_. A wee lass, barely even reaching the height of his hips. Barely bigger than wee Janet. But she was _glowing_ , like her tiny slip of a nightgown was sewn from strands of moonlight. If Jamie didn’t know any better, he’d say that above her head was a flickering flame. Or maybe it was just her hair...fiery red. Like his.

And her _eyes_ , how they glowed.

Like amber in front of a flame.

Like whisky.

“Hallo.”

She spoke, and her voice sounded like music underwater, like ringing bells in an echoing cave. Far away, yet right in his ear. He jumped at the sound, staggering back again, stumbling until he landed on his rear in his makeshift bed.

“W...what d’ye want…?” Jamie stammered, his eyes frozen and unblinking on the ethereal being. “Are ye...a spirit?”

“Aye,” she said calmly, a placid, gentle smile on her cherubic face. “I was sent to ye.”

“Sent...to me?”

“Aye.” She giggled, and it made his head spin. She was so...sweet. So lovely. Her hair was floating above and around her, never resting on her shoulders or back, like it was floating in water behind her. For the first time, he noticed the wreath of holly she wore atop her little head.

“By who?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He was a devout man; he’d not be tempted by one of Satan’s visions, sweet bairn or no. Yet, there was a lingering paganism in him, the part of him that believed his dreams of Claire were not makings of his own fevered imagination.

“By the Ghost of Hogmanay past,” she said proudly, as if reciting a poem taught to her in her lessons. She smiled, giggling again, and Jamie was overwhelmed by how small her glowing white teeth were.

“The...the what…?”

“She’s a little girl spirit like me,” the wee thing explained. “She gave me this crown of holly berries so I could do her job fer tonight.”

Jamie blinked dumbly, not at all understanding.

“It’s a very rare thing fer the spirits to appear,” she said, again like reciting lessons. “And even rarer that the honor be given to someone else. Like me.”

Jamie swallowed against a painfully dry throat, wracking his brain for what to say. “Why...why’ve they given ye the honor this time?”

She giggled again, and he swore he could feel it fluttering his heart. “Because the mortal they needed to reach was my Da.”

Something pricked him on the skull between his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

“Da…?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

She nodded, her fiery tendrils bobbing midair, that flame that may or may not be atop her head flickering. She smiled sweetly, beatifically. “It’s me, Da.”

He thought he might faint. Copper hair, her mother’s eyes —

“It’s Faith.”

He lost vision completely for several seconds, but still glowed behind his eyelids, burned into his mind.

 _Faith_.

His eyes opened again, burning and watery. The tears slipped out, unabashed, and a sob tore through him.

“Faith…?” he stammered, making to stand, but falling to his knees on the stone. “My...my Faith…?”

She was still smiling, twirling back and forth like any mortal wee lass, oblivious as to the effect she had on her father.

“Oh, _mo chridhe_ …” he wept, inching forward toward her on the floor. “Christ, ye’re beautiful...I never even dared dream of ye...and here ye are...so bonny…”

She was now in arm’s reach, and he made a desperate grab for her, meaning to gather her in his strong arms and cradle her to his chest, rock her there for hours, never let her go.

But his hands met nothing but thin air, white-hot air, and he fell forward, his palms slapping the stones.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

She said it like she’d been caught eating too many bannocks or tormenting the chickens.

He heaved with shuddering breath, unable to look up at her again just yet after having his heart broken like that. He watched as his tears dotted the stone beneath her glowing feet.

“Mortals canna touch spirits.”

He bit back another sob, swallowing hard. Spirit or no, his daughter deserved better than to see her father completely unravel like this.

“It’s…” He sniffled. “It’s alright, lass.” He picked his head up, daring to look at her again. “It’s enough to...to see ye. To hear yer sweet wee voice.” He sniffled again, breaking out into a smile against his will. “I’ve...I’ve always loved ye, though I never saw ye. D’ye ken that?”

“Aye.” She nodded sweetly. “I ken. And I always loved ye, too.”

He was wracked by another sob, overwhelmed.

“Yer...yer mother…” he stammered. “Have ye…”

“No,” she said lightly. “Ma doesna need me.”

His brow furrowed. It was incomprehensible. How could Claire not _need_ this? How could some powers-that-be decide that a mother need not see her child?

“Doesna need ye…?”

“I ken she misses me. But that’s no’ the same as needing me. That’s what the Ghost of Hogmanay Past said.”

“And why is it that I... _need_ ye? And what’s all this about a Ghost of Hogmanay…?”

“It’s my job to show ye things ye need to see,” she said, that sweet, youthful pride pouring out of her again. “Hogmanay’s past.”

“I...I dinna understand…”

“It’s alright, Da. I’ll just show ye.”

She stooped down, reaching for his hand, and Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Perhaps _he_ couldn’t touch _her_ , but she could touch him. The thought almost had him weeping again.

But then there was fiery heat in his left hand, and his guts were in his mouth as the world dissolved around him. He cried out in fright, but there was no sound to be heard above the roaring wind.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and Faith was no longer holding his hand. He didn’t even see her at first, and the panic that that created was enough to make him completely unaware of his surroundings.

“Faith, _mo chridhe_? Where are ye? Come back, please…”

He whirled around and was met with a rowdy pair of children running headlong for him, and it was far too late to move out of their way. Much to Jamie’s horror, they ran right through him, as his hands had gone right through Faith.

_Christ! Am I dead?_

A small giggle.

He whirled around, and there she was, floating, flaming hair, glowing white skin and all.

“Ye’re no’ dead,” she said, shaking her head at his foolishness. “Ye’re...a visitor. But ye’re no’ really here. Everything here has already happened. Ye ken?”

His brow furrowed, and he finally took in his surroundings. He was...home?

But he wasn’t just inside the main house. No...something was different.

The parlor was decked out as Jenny always had it for Hogmanay when they could afford it, but it was far more extravagant than as far back as Jamie could remember. The greenery and the holly and the wreaths and the candles were simply beautiful. It was like stepping into a magical woodland castle, the air drugged with joy and high spirits.

And then he saw them.

“Da? Mam…?” His voice was no more than a choked whisper, and he found his feet bringing him closer to them before he even willed it.

They were whirling around the dance floor, and Jamie sidestepped other couples in vain. It didn’t matter anyway; they danced and twirled right through him. His mother was radiant. He’d forgotten, forgotten how beautiful she’d been, how full of life. And his father...he looked at his mother like he was holding the entire world in his arms. Jamie had forgotten what it was like to look at two people so in love, knowing that he had come from that love, however abstractly he’d known it at that age.

They were both laughing, red in the face from exertion. Jamie could not even keep up with them in following them around the room. He felt inexplicable giddiness bubbling in his chest. He used to watch them whirl around the floor all night, lost in the music of the fiddler accompanied by the laughter of love. Mam used to blow kisses at him and wink, sometimes Da would throw him up on his shoulders, or Jenny, or even both at once, tossing them both over each shoulder like sacks of grain.

“Willie! Lemme! Lemme!”

A piercing, chillingly familiar voice stood out among the throng. Jamie whirled around and completely froze.

_That’s me._

Little Jamie was standing there, the tips of his ears red, his face twisted in a ridiculous scowl. He was watching two other children dancing clumsily, a little girl twirling around the finger of her partner.

“Willie…” Jamie breathed reverently, coming closer to the cloister of three children, unblinking, hardly daring to breathe.

“ _I_ want tae dance!” Little Jamie protested, stamping his foot. “Lemme!”

“Haud yer whisht!” Little Jenny scolded. “If ye dinna quit yer scowling, I’ll tell Mother to hide yer presents!”

“Jenny,” Willie interrupted. “He’s just a wee lad. Let him dance wi’ us.”

“He’s _clumsy_!” she protested, little nose wrinkling beneath mirthful, cunning blue eyes.

“He’ll never learn if he doesna get to try.”

Jamie crouched down nearby, watching and listening in awe. There Willie was, protesting about his brother being a wee lad, when he himself was only ten years old. He was wee as anything to Jamie.

And he’d be dead in a year.

“This must’ve been our last Hogmanay all together,” Jamie whispered before he realized he was saying it aloud. He didn’t need to look to know that Faith was standing beside him; he could feel the heat of her fiery presence, could see her glowing from the corner of his eye.

The little Jamie he was looking at was no older than five, Jenny was about seven. Willie would be eleven and dead soon, and his mother would follow in three more years. This was the last time everything had been truly magical during Hogmanay.

“This was...the last time,” Jamie said, unable to elaborate so that his tiny daughter would understand.

Willie finally convinced Jenny to allow Little Jamie to hold one of each of their hands, and they twirled and skipped in a circle. Little Jamie’s scowl seemed to transfer to his sister’s face, apparently unhappy that her nagging wee brother had gotten his way, but before long, all three children were laughing and squealing, tripping over each other in glee.

“The last time what, Da?” Jamie could not tell if his daughter was genuinely asking, or if she was wiser than she seemed and was trying to get him to reveal the contents of his weary soul.

“The last time we were...together. Happy.” Tears stung his eyes. “Willie was my very best friend, ye ken? I was so young when I lost him that I...I dinna even remember what it was like. But look at me....I’m looking at him like he hung the stars.”

And he was, Little Jamie. He adored his big brother. So did Jenny.

The fiddler ceased that particular tune, and everyone paused to applaud wildly, whooping and cheering. Da made his way over to his trio of wee Frasers. Jenny began hounding him to allow her to dance with him instead of Ma, Jamie began demanding to be sat on his shoulders. To compensate, he reached down with a great playful growl, scooping them up and tossing them over his shoulders as the fiddler started in again. Little Jamie and Jenny squealed their wee heads off as Da fully performed a jig with two bairns on his back, and Ma laughed her head off, taking Willie’s hands and swinging their arms between them.

Before long, the rest of the room took notice of Brian’s absurdity and was cheering him on, and then both of his wee children were sitting atop his shoulders, clinging to each other over his head as he danced. The jig finished and the room erupted again. Eyes leaking with tears of laughter, Ellen took Little Jamie into her arms, kissing his temple and rustling his wild hair as Jenny settled on Brian’s hip. His parents kissed, sweet and chaste and beautiful, and Jamie’s heart felt full and empty all at once.

“This truly was the last joyful holiday we had,” Jamie said with a sense of finality. He could live in this memory forever, forget the suffering that was to come, the fate of his poor brother and mother, the fate of _himself_ all those years later. He wanted to fold himself into that loving embrace of that family of five, to meld himself with his five year old soul and live this night forever and ever.

“It wasna the _last_ one, Da,” Faith said gently.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a tiny, delicate hand grasping his again, and before he could speak the panicked protest on his lips into existence, his family was melting away in a whir of color, and the deafening wind was back. Jamie’s frightened cry made no sound, lost to the howling wind.

Colors began leaking back in around them, dimly lit and getting brighter by the second. It was like watching a painting being created right before his eyes, all around him. Then the parlor was back, the Hogmanay decorations all in their place, but just the slightest bit different. Jamie frantically whipped his head around, completely disoriented. His eyes took in a crowd gathered around a dancing couple, and he weaved in and out of them, apparently forgetting that he could just walk right through them if he wished. His heart soared, ready to find his mother and father again, but his breath was taken away at what he saw instead.

Jenny was grown now, hair long and flowing and tied back with a bow, her face bright and beaming, hands clasped with…

 _Ian_.

He was laughing just as heartily, twirling and skipping and dancing right in step with Jenny.

_Both of his legs._

Jenny was a young woman, clearly in love with the man that would be her husband, so this must have been…

“The last holiday before...” Jamie breathed reverently. “Before…everything.”

Before Fort William, before Da, before Ian’s leg was taken.

Before Claire.

“Mhmm.” Faith nodded in confirmation, swaying ethereally to the music. “Auntie is very bonny, aye?”

It took Jamie a moment to register her words, entranced as he was by the sight of his sister’s joy. So much had been lost, her brother, her mother. She’d become the woman of the house before she could even see over a washtub. Far too young. Yet, here she was, glowing, radiant.

_She’s already stronger than I’ll ever be._

He smiled then, nodding. “Aye, lass. She’s bonny.”

He’d been so blind! How on earth hadn’t he seen the way his sister looked at his best friend? Where was he now that he hadn’t _seen_ this, hadn’t heard the crowd whispering about what a bonny match they’d make someday?

A whooping roar sounded behind him, and Jamie whirled around, following the sound into the dining room, where he laughed out loud at what he saw.

Murtagh and his father were tossing back mugs of whisky and so was…

 _Himself_.

It was not the same as looking at himself as a bairn; it was much stranger. It was so clearly _him_ , yet it wasn’t at all. He was so _young_ , this Jamie. So foolish; present Jamie could tell. He had that stupid glint in his eye, like he was seconds away from doing something foolish at any given time. The crowd roared again as the three men — or, rather, _two_ men and the _lad_ — slammed their mugs down. A drinking game of sorts.

“Aye, I remember,” Jamie breathed, laughing. “Da is about to drink me under the table!”

He’d passed out that night, so hell-bent on drinking more than his father and godfather that he hadn’t taken into account exactly how much he’d been consuming.

“I was sick as a bloody dog the next day,” Jamie went on, still laughing to Faith. “Da wouldna let it go fer weeks. Jenny didna even seem to notice, didna nag me as she would ha’ to see me in such a state. Her mind was elsewhere, I reckon.”

Jamie threw a look over his shoulder into the parlor, finding Jenny still bounding about the room with Ian, joined now by other couples. Jamie looked back again, watched as his father slapped younger Jamie’s back ruthlessly, causing him to sway, and causing the crowd to laugh raucously.

Then there was Da, beaming bright as young-and-in-love Jenny was.

Jamie had seen with his own two eyes how much losing his mother had crumbled his father. They were the loves of each other’s lives, there was no getting around it. Brian lost a piece of his heart when Ellen died, after having already buried a piece of it with Willie. Jamie knew the pain of losing a child, and he knew the pain of losing his wife.

And yet there he was, his father.

None could deny that there was always a quiet sadness about him after Willie, after Ma. But then he tossed his head back, howling with laughter as his son stumbled again, and Jamie’s heart twisted.

 _He carried on_.

He looked back at Jenny again upon hearing her laugh, a shrill, shrieking sound that he’d always hated as a lad, but that now brought him such aching joy.

Certainly growing up too quickly had hardened her; it was unavoidable. And the horrors to come, Randall harming her, the rising and its aftermath, losing her own child...they’d all make her harder still. Jamie could see it in their present.

_But she carried on._

Jamie did a visual sweep of the dining room, practically overflowing with food and decoration, every painstaking detail in place to give joy. He was certain that Jenny had done her best to recreate such a thing in her present day, for her children, for Fergus.

For him.

The way his Da had carried on and continued to make each holiday special after losing pieces of his heart had instilled itself into his daughter as well.

And it had missed Jamie himself.

Jamie was overwhelmed with crushing shame, tears stinging his eyes. His eyes bore into his father, so full of life, into _himself_ so full of life. So young.

“Da...I…” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “I’ve failed ye. I have. I’ve failed Jenny, and Ma. I ken ye’d be disappointed in the man I’ve let myself become.”

How far had he fallen that such strength had eluded him? What was so bloody pathetic about him that he could not carry on as his father had set the example for his entire life?

“D’ye see, Da?” A little voice jolted him out of his reverie of self pity, and he finally tore his eyes away from the pillar of a man that he still loved fiercely, still missed with a painful ache. 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Aye, lass...I see. I see that I’m a...a bloody coward. A puir excuse fer a son.”

“Oh, Da,” Faith’s wee voice was tinged with sympathy, as if she were coddling one of her dollies.

Jamie sniffled, then turned to look down at his beautiful wee daughter. “The spirits sent ye to humble me, then?” he said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice for her sake. “To remind me how far I’ve fallen from this time of great joy?”

“Aye...I think so.”

Had he not felt sick to his stomach, Jamie might have laughed at her sweet innocence.

“But,” she went on, “all is not lost.”

She grasped his hand again, and Jamie threw a desperate glance back at his father, tossing his head back in laughter again; the last time he’d ever see him until the Eternal Kingdom.

The lights, the music, the laughter, and the joy all faded away like melting wax until the cave molded back into existence around them. His candle was still turned over, the only light in the room Faith’s glowing essence. Jamie’s head was spinning, so much so that he nearly forgot what Faith had just said:

_All is not lost._

“What...what did ye mean, _mo chridhe_ …? What isna lost?”

She giggled. “All!”

He laughed despite himself, his heart straining in his chest. He knelt down in front of his daughter, his hands physically aching with the need to reach out and touch her, and his heart splitting upon remembering that he couldn’t.

“Cheeky wee thing,” he said softly, his eyes glistening.

“It’ll be alright, Da,” Faith said sweetly. “The other spirits will help ye understand.”

“Others?”

“Aye, I only showed ye the past. The spirits said ye must see the present and future as well.”

“But what...what good’ll it do…?”

She smiled, reaching out to ghost a white hot finger over his nose. “It’ll do all the good in the world, Da. I promise.”

Jamie leaned into her touch, but was met with nothing but air.

“Can ye promise me ye’ll keep yer heart open?” Faith asked, and the room suddenly seemed to get darker.

_Her light is fading._

“Faith? Faith, _mo chridhe_ , what’s happening?”

“Promise, Da. Promise that what I showed ye has opened yer heart fer the next spirits.”

_She’s leaving._

“Please, lass, dinna leave me…”

“Promise,” she begged, fading dimmer and dimmer.

“Aye,” Jamie choked, a sob wracking through his body. “Aye, my sweet babe...I promise.”

Faith sighed with relief, smiling brightly. “Thank ye, Da.”

“Wait…!”

_“I love you, Da.”_

And she was gone.

Jamie fell forward onto his hands and knees, sobbing gutturally, every inch of his body alight with the horrible pain of losing her again.

“I...I love you too, Faith.”

The room was entirely black, black as his heart felt now that she was gone. He didn’t bother to light the candle, didn’t even move from his hands and knees as he wept for his lost brother, parents, his poor daughter, and the mother that would never be given such a gift as he had to see her and hear her voice.

Then there was light again; he could see it behind his burning eyelids. He looked behind him. The candle was still turned over, unlit. He turned back around, sitting on his haunches and beholding the next glowing spirit to grace his presence.

He almost fainted.

_“...Sassenach?”_


	2. Present: Sorcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of Hogmanay present sends a familiar spirit to Jamie.

Jamie thought he might truly be dead, almost wished it. If he were dead, and this was the sight that were to greet him, he would welcome it, embrace it fully, as he’d tried to do on the day of that bloody battle. If on the other side of eternity was that sweet little face of his bairn, and _her_ …

“Hello, Jamie.”

Something guttural tore through him at the sound of her voice. The effect it had on his body was the same as taking a breath after several minutes of being submerged in water: life-giving, but burning, overwhelming.

His mouth flapped uselessly, the neverending stream of tears funneling in. He remained on his knees as she stood there, as if in worship of her. She was dressed exactly the way she’d been on the battlefield, when she’d appeared to him in that nightgown, that shawl. As she was the night she’d said she loved him.

And then it all stopped, froze.

If he was dead, then thank God for that. But if he _wasn’t_ …

“Ye…” he stammered, struck with horror. “Ye’re dead…?”

“No, Jamie.” She shook her head vehemently.

“But Faith...she came to me...a spirit…” His entire body trembled. “I canna bear it...if ye didna live...I...I canna…”

“I did. I did, Jamie.” Her voice remained calm and level, soft and sure. “I am going to live a long, wonderful life.”

He closed his eyes then, letting the wave of relief that she sent his way crash into him and fill him. He opened his eyes quickly in a panic, terrified that she’d vanish.

“Time doesn’t work the way you’d think,” she explained, seeing the expression on his face asking the question that he could not find the air to voice: _Then how?_

“I’m alive now, just as you are, in a way that our baby never was.” In her living, mortal life, Claire could not speak of Faith without her voice breaking. But _this_ Claire...she seemed to possess a sense of calm acceptance, of all-knowing.

“And I’m here to show you.”

Jamie blinked dumbly, taking a stuttering breath. “Sh...show me…?”

“Show you the present. Mine, and yours.”

His head was spinning.

“Yours…? Ye’ll...ye’ll show me your time, then…? How…? How is that ye’re here, yet ye live…?”

His temples were throbbing.

_“Can ye promise me ye’ll keep yer heart open?”_

Claire did not speak, just bore those amber eyes into him, as if she was the one reminding him of the promise he’d made to their daughter.

Yes, he’d made a promise, a promise that he intended to keep.

Then he swallowed, hard.

“If _you_ live, and ye mean to show me yer...present.” Another tear trickled down his cheek. “Then...then our child...lives…? In your present?”

Her glow seemed to amplify, to brighten the room. She nodded silently.

“Oh, Christ…” It was barely above a whisper. “Take me there, _mo ghraidh_. Take me to our living child.”

Her face changed imperceptibly, and she straightened up. Her eyes grew in depth, looking at him in a way that made his bones chill. “Yes. I will.”

She reached around her neck, taking hold of something that he couldn’t see beneath her shawl and nightgown. She pulled it over her head, allowing her curls to dance as the object rustled past them. Then she was holding it out to him, and it swayed in the space between them, back and forth before his eyes.

The pearls.

“Grab hold of these,” she instructed. “And I will take you to our living child.”

He exhaled reverently, lifting a trembling hand. “Thank you, _Sorcha_...thank you…”

And then his fingers closed around the pearls, and the room melted away as it had with Faith. Jamie prepared himself, even as his gut roiled with the journey they took, to see the wonders of this future, Claire’s present. He prepared himself to see another child with red hair, or perhaps her shimmering brown. He prepared himself to see the _electricity_ she’d spoken of to him, to see…the man he’d sent her back to.

But the images that formed around them were familiar, too familiar.

They were in Lallybroch again, decorated and jolly as it had been when Faith had shown him. He turned in a circle, taking in the sights, counted all five of Jenny’s bairns, and knew that this was indeed the present and not the past.

“I dinna understand…” Jamie whirled around to look at Claire.

“I said I’d take you to our living child,” she said evenly, too evenly. “He’s right there.”

She pointed her finger somewhere behind Jamie, and he turned. His brows were knitted together, his heart hammering with uncertainty. What could it mean, if their child was here?

Then it hit him, like a blow to the face.

Fergus was sitting in the corner, alone, cupping something in his hands that his head was bowed over. Jamie’s sight of the lad flashed in and out as dancing couples and shrieking children whirred past in front of him.

“I said I would show you my present as well as yours,” Claire said. “ _Your_ child, the one you can actually care for, is right there.”

Jamie felt an ice cold hand gripping his heart. Guilt.

“Claire, I…”

“When I left you, I thought you’d die,” she went on. “And leaving you tore me in two as much as it did knowing that I was leaving that boy orphaned. It eats me alive almost every night, thinking of him, abandoned. But you’re _here_ , Jamie.”

Jamie took a hesitant step toward the lad, couples whooshing right through his non-corporeal form.

“You left me with one child,” she said, following him. “And I left you with another.”

The hand on his heart squeezed tighter, and Jamie wanted to wither away into nothing. He’d never seen it that way, not once. Claire thought he was dead, he _should_ be dead. He was, in a way. He was no good to this lad.

“Why’s he no’ dancing, no’ eating…?” Jamie said, inching closer and closer. “The lad’s stomach has no bottom, and I ken he drinks the whisky though Jenny tells him no’ to. He should be having the time of his life.”

He took one final step, standing right above him now, and saw what Fergus was cradling in his hands.

 _Sawny_.

Jamie swallowed thickly against the rush of tears.

“He wishes _you_ were there, Jamie.”

Jamie shook his head. “Why should he…? I...I was cruel to him. He’s better off wi’ Jenny and Ian. They’ve a loving home, enough room in their hearts fer him. I’m…”

“His father,” Claire finished pointedly. “You’re his father, Jamie. I know it, you know it, and he knows it.”

“But I...wi’out you…”

“Yes. You are without me,” she said. “And so is he.”

Before Jamie could will his dry mouth to form a coherent sentence, the fiddler ceased, and the crowd applauded. Jenny appeared from behind them, approaching Fergus.

“I’ve barely seen ye eat a thing all night,” she said, half teasing. “What happened to that bottomless fool? Go and eat yer fill.”

“I am not hungry.” He didn’t look up from his hands.

“That’s no’ like you,” Jenny said, crossing her arms. “It’s also no’ like you to let those lasses dance wi’ the other lads.” She jutted her chin over her shoulder at the swaths of young girls holding hands with other lads around Fergus’s age. “Last year ye had at least three of them on yer heel at any given time.”

Fergus said nothing. Jenny’s cheerful mask faltered, and it tugged on Jamie’s heart. She sighed, giving up on taunting the lad with fun and food. She uncrossed her arms and knelt before him, covering his hands with her own.

“Ye ken ye can talk to me, Fergus,” she said softly. Jamie never ceased to be impressed by his sister’s warmth, by her ability to strike the fear of God in her bairns, and yet mother them with such beautiful softness.

Jamie could tell Fergus tried to squirm away, to avoid this, but that he was powerless to stop the silent tears that trickled down his cheeks.

“Fergus…”

“I miss her,” he said suddenly, his voice croaking.

“Aye,” Jenny said sadly. “I do, too.”

“And I...I hate him.”

Jenny’s face momentarily blanched with pain, but she swallowed and hardened her resolve again. “Who?”

“I hate Milord. I hate him,” he spat through clenched teeth. He still did not look up from their joined hands. “I thought he was different. But he is a liar.”

“Different than what, lad?”

“Than...than all the others who abandoned me since I was born.” His voice finally broke, a heartbreaking little sob escaping his lips. Jamie was suddenly painfully aware how young Fergus still was; he was not the grown man that he’d have everyone believe he was. Jamie felt his heart cleave in two, acutely aware that _he_ was causing those tears.

Jenny’s throat bobbed, her eyes glistening. “Oh, lad...ye ken that he…”

“I thought he was different.” It was almost a growl. Fergus finally picked his head up to look Jenny in the eye, his eyes red. “He is not.”

He stood then, wrenching his hands from Jenny’s grip and tossing the wooden snake aside, sending it clattering across the floor. Jenny called after him in vain, and Fergus stormed up the stairs and out of sight. Defeated, Jenny sighed and reached for the discarded toy. She pressed it to her heart and closed her eyes briefly before getting up to tend to her guests again, cheery mask back in place.

Jamie turned to look at Claire, but she was staring at the stairs after Fergus, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her. But even if he _could_ touch her, he knew he was not worthy of giving her this comfort when he was the reason she needed it.

“Do you see?” Claire said, her voice filled with such sorrow that it almost drowned Jamie’s hollow heart. “You told him you loved him like a son, then abandoned him. You gave him that joy of finding a family, and then took it away. Jenny and Ian’s love can’t replace that hope you gave him of having something of his own. And since you sent _me_ away, the least you can do is uphold that promise you made him.”

Jamie hadn’t realized...hadn’t realized that in saying that he’d been making the lad a promise. How could he have been so unknowingly cruel…?

And God, Claire’s voice was so full of shame. She was so _ashamed_ of him, ashamed of how he treated _their son._ She lie in agony every night wondering about his fate, fate that he held in his hands. And he was failing her, failing him.

“I…” His voice was dry and cracked. “I dinna ken how...how do I…” He ran his hands over his face. “I’m such a miserable wretch wi’out ye...I canna...find the strength…”

“Do you think you’re the only miserable wretch, Jamie?”

Her voice was not cold, and perhaps that was why Jamie shivered. She held out the pearls to him again, waiting.

“There’s something else you need to see.”

_My present as well as yours._

His heart skipped a beat, his stomach flipped. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to grasp the pearls, and the melted wax reappeared all around him. He looked deeply into Claire’s eyes, and he could swear that she was brimming with nervousness. Even despite her shame at his treatment of Fergus, she was unable to suppress the emotion of bringing him into this life, bringing him to the baby he’d sent away with her.

The world reformed itself around them, and Jamie immediately knew they were truly in a different place. It was daylight where she’d taken him, yet evidence of that _electricity_ was present on an evergreen in the corner of the room they stood in. A parlor by the looks of it. The tree glowed beautifully, and Jamie could not stop staring at it. There were baubles on the branches that bounced the light around, and a glowing star on the top. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, yet still familiar. There was garland and holly on the fireplace, around the trim, the likes of which even Jenny would be proud of. He noticed, too, odd-looking, oversized red stockings hanging over the fireplace. And then he remembered:

_“Be Yuletide by the time we get back to Leoch.”_

_“Christmas...I don't suppose you hang stockings by the fire.”_

_“To dry them off, ye mean?”_

_A small smile, pinkening the tips of her ears and nose. “Never mind.”_

This was the image in her mind that night, a picture of domestic bliss. Jamie choked on the memory, blinking away tears. 

“Come _on_ , Mama!”

Jamie’s heart stopped.

“It’s Christmas morning,” Claire explained softly. “That’s when we open gifts in this time.”

She gestured to the small pile of boxes under the evergreen, red and green, shiny and tied off with bows.

“I _saw_! I saw all the presents Santa brought!”

The little voice filled Jamie’s ears again, and he could have collapsed to his knees.

“Oh, you did?”

A breathy laugh escaped Jamie’s lips.

“Did you count them?”

“There were a _hundred_!”

The far-away Claire laughed softly. “Are you sure about that?”

“Uh-huh! Come _on_!”

And then there they were.

He saw the fiery mop of curls first; his eyes went straight to it. The bairn was wearing loose fitting trousers and a button shirt, red and green, matching the boxes under the evergreen. He raked his eyes over the hand that the child clasped and up the length of the delicate arm, eventually landing on Claire’s face.

Jamie bit back a sob.

_She’s so sad._

Yes, she was smiling, the corners of her eyes crinkled, but there was something lingering beneath that broke his heart.

And the bairn had no idea.

Claire was wearing a set of trousers and a button shirt that matched what the bairn was wearing, and he realized at once that his assumption that the child was a lad could very well have been incorrect if Claire was wearing trousers as well. Anything was possible in this time, he supposed.

“Christ…” Jamie couldn’t breathe, his chest was tight. Yet, the first thing that came out of his mouth was: “What’ve ye done to yer hair…?”

Spirit-Claire chuckled, running a hand through her long curls. “That’s the style of the time,” she explained, gesturing to her other self’s cropped, loosely styled curls. “Usually it’s neater than that; you’d probably hate it even more.”

Jamie made a Scottish noise in the back of his throat, but moved closer to the pair of them. The child was kneeling before the evergreen now, and Claire sat cross-legged nearby.

“Here, let’s count them,” Claire said. The bairn seemed not to hear, picking up another box and shaking it next to a little ear. “Come on, I know you’ve been working very hard on counting in school, haven’t you?”

“Where’s Daddy? I wanna open them!”

Claire momentarily seemed like she’d received a needle prick between her eyes, blinking and flinching almost imperceptibly. But then it was gone, replaced again by that sweet, motherly smile. “You have _no_ patience at all.”

“Nope!”

Before the child could scramble away, Claire seized her or him around the middle and brought the little body into her lap.

“School…?” Jamie breathed. “Old enough for that already?”

“They start their first year at four years old here,” Spirit-Claire explained. “It’s called kindergarten.”

Jamie repeated the foreign word. “Sounds German.”

“It is.”

Claire was relentlessly tickling the squirming bairn in her lap, eliciting high-pitched squeals and pealing laughter.

“Our child is bright, already counting all the way to twenty,” Spirit-Claire said. “Even though they only go up to ten in school.”

Jamie laughed inaudibly, his chest swelling with pride. He noticed then that Claire was being deliberately careful about how she addressed the child. “Ye dinna plan to tell me if it’s a lass or a lad then? Or a name?”

Claire shook her head. “I can’t.”

Tears of anger burned his eyes, his throat. “I’m never to know, then.”

It wasn’t a question, but a savage growl of acceptance.

Claire smiled, a soft, tiny smile. “Not never.”

Before Jamie could demand that she elaborate on that:

“Daddy!”

“Here I am!”

Jamie _really_ almost fainted.

Claire had been right about the resemblance.

The bairn darted over to the twin of the man that still tormented Jamie’s mind, and he bent down and scooped up the little body like it was nothing. Resemblance there might be, but there was none of that brooding darkness, none of the twisted sadism in his eyes as he held the child — _his_ child, Jamie supposed — on his hip and kissed the curly red head.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” the man crooned softly. It sent a chill down Jamie’s spine, despite the warmth, _genuine_ warmth he heard in his voice.

“He’s good to us,” Spirit-Claire interrupted before he could fully spiral. “I promise, Jamie. He’s nothing like _him_. He’s a good father.”

He watched the man, _Frank_ , plop a ridiculous red hat trimmed with white wool, a white puff dangling from the end, atop his child’s head, laughing as it fell over the tiny brow, and he knew in his heart that Claire spoke true.

“You left your hat in your room,” Frank said, carrying the child back to the evergreen. “Can’t have that, can we?”  
  
“No way!” the child said as Frank put him or her down. The wee thing pushed the too-big hat so that it was no longer blocking any vision, and a wee bottom plopped back down onto the floor in front of the shiny boxes.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Frank said softly, leaning down to grant a peck of a kiss to Claire’s lips.

“Merry Christmas,” Claire answered, allowing the kiss, returning it.

Jamie momentarily saw red, and he had to blink several times to keep his rage at bay.

He could _feel_ Claire’s tension beside him, feel her glowing presence become brighter and hotter. She didn’t say anything, neither did Jamie. He had no right to, having sent her to him himself. This is what he had wanted.

But neither could he deny that something was _missing_ in that small peck.

And she was so _sad_.

Frank sat down on one of the couches and Claire remained on the floor, seemingly as far away from him as she could get.

“Can I open now?” the child demanded, looking back and forth between the adults.

“Go on, lovie,” Claire crooned.

Without a moment’s hesitation, little hands dove under the evergreen for a red box. “I wanna open one from _Daddy_ first!”

Jamie saw red again as Frank chuckled softly. It was wrong, the rage he felt at this man’s joy and comfort. There was something remarkable about him choosing to raise this child as his own, something comforting about him taking such joy in doing so. He really _loved_ Claire and Jamie’s child; it didn’t seem like an obligation.

But it boiled Jamie’s blood nonetheless, knowing that it should have, _could have_ been him.

The Claire sitting on the floor watched her child tear the paper off the box, a vague, placid smile on her face. Jamie could not see what lay beneath the paper, but the wean gasped dramatically, flinging aside more paper and bits of what appeared to be a box and fished out from the pile two figurines of horses.

Frank was beaming with glee. “Do you like them?”

“I _love_ them!” The wean held them up higher, illuminating them by the strange lights on the evergreen. Jamie’s breath caught in his throat.

It was a pair, a large black horse and a smaller white one.

_Our horses._

Spirit-Claire said nothing as she and Jamie watched what happened next. The Clarie by the evergreen abruptly stood up.

“Claire?” Frank called after her as she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” she blurted. “And hot chocolate.”

The child broke into an even wider grin, clapping his or her hands in excitement.

“Don’t wait for me.”

“Claire, what — ”

“I won’t open any that say ‘Mama’ without you!”

Claire didn’t answer. The child didn’t skip a beat, setting the horses aside and moving onto one that said “from Santa,” whatever that meant. Frank ran a hand down his face, unnoticed, buried by the sound of paper tearing.

Jamie didn’t hesitate before following Claire out of the room, trailed close behind by Spirit-Claire. They were led by Present-Claire into a room the likes of which Jamie had never seen. The floor was hard and cold, and so were bits of the wall. There was a great metal box topped with coils, bits of metal that vaguely resembled a water pump, a great white box.

Before Jamie could ask spirit-Claire what the devil he was looking at, the Claire they’d been following collapsed to the floor in the middle of the room, hugging herself around the middle. All else fell away but the need to comfort her, to hold her. Jamie fell to his knees before her, reaching for her, and, of course, finding nothing but thin air beneath his fingers.

“ _Mo nighean donn_ …” he whispered brokenly, watching as she shook with silent sobs, sputtering into a hand clamped over her mouth to keep herself quiet. “Claire...I’m here...It’s alright…”

Spirit-Claire didn’t need to tell him; he knew that she couldn’t hear him, that he wasn’t really there.

He muttered in Gaelic, his heart splintering, his hands burning with the need to shelter her from this pain. He was also overcome with rage; Frank sat in the next room, content to let Claire fall apart like this alone, without a comfort in the world. If Jamie were there, were this his house, his family, he’d drop everything to follow her, to coax out of her what troubled her, to apologize for unknowingly upsetting her…

Of course the man couldn’t have known. But Claire’s reaction was clear as day.

Yet here she was, alone.

“My poor lass…” Jamie muttered, silent tears trickling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...I wish I could…”

Then she wiped her face with both hands, taking deep heaving breaths before pushing herself off the floor. She wavered for a moment, and Jamie instinctively reached out to steady her before logic could remind him that he couldn’t. She got her bearings and then made her way to the white box, opening a door and retrieving a bottle filled with what could only be milk. She continued crying quietly, sniffling and shuddering as she poured milk into a small pot atop the coils on the metal box. A fire lit beneath the pot, and through his awe, Jamie realized.

She was using that contraption to make the bairn’s _hot chocolate_ , even as she wept through waves of pain.

She put a different sort of pot on a second coil, likely for the coffee. After the fire was lit beneath the coffee pot, Claire backed away, leaning on one of the counters, breathing heavily.

_“Buck up, Beauchamp.”_

Those three words, uttered through her teeth, a command, a demand of herself... _that_ was what had Jamie fully weeping.

_She’s so, so sad._

Several moments passed of Claire leaning on the counter for dear life, sniffling and shuddering silently, and then the pitter-patter of little feet entered the room.

Claire instantly pushed off the counter, wiping her face and donning a brilliant smile. Jamie watched in awe as Claire greeted her child, smiling and cooing even with her face still stained with tears.

“Look, see?” Claire said, lifting the wean onto her hip. “Your milk is heating.”

“Can I put a candy cane in my hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can.” Claire nuzzled the curls that peeked out from the bottom of the silly red hat. “And,” Claire spun them around, bringing them to the white box where the milk had come from, “Christmas cookies for breakfast.” She clung to the child in one arm and reached up for a container atop the white box with the other. The child squealed with glee.

“Do I get to _eat them_ in the _living room_?”

“On Christmas? Certainly.”

Claire popped a cookie in her mouth, having opened the tin, and the child opened his or her little mouth expectantly, and Claire obliged, causing them both to giggle with mouths full of _cookies_ , things that vaguely resembled biscuits, Jamie decided.

“Go on, bring these to Daddy. I’ll be right in.” Claire set the child back on the floor, placing the tin of cookies in eager hands.

“Okay, but _hurry_. I really really really wanna open the _big_ one that says ‘from Mama’!”

Claire chuckled softly, then crouched down to kiss the child’s little nose. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

With that, Claire was left alone again, bare feet echoing and disappearing. The mask immediately melted away, and that bone-tired grief, that _sadness_ returned, physically sagging her shoulders, making her look smaller.

“How…?” Jamie breathed, watching as she poured some of the warm milk into a porcelain-looking mug and mixed in a brown powder.

He couldn’t finish his thought through the rush of tears clogging his throat: _How can she pretend that well?_

“You aren’t the only one who is unhappy, Jamie,” Spirit-Claire spoke for the first time in a long while. Present-Claire reached up into a cabinet and retrieved a curved red and white stick, putting the straight end into the mug and hooking the curve on the edge, allowing a tiny smile as she did.

“But you go on for the ones you love.”

Jamie felt that ice cold hand again, and he simultaneously felt like he would burn alive with shame. Here Claire was, being strong for her child, _their_ child, and Jamie could not manage to do the same for the son she’d left behind with him.

He watched Claire pour coffee into two more mugs, and then Frank appeared.

“Are ehm...are you alright?”

Claire nodded wordlessly, her back still to him. “Coffee’s done. Grab the hot chocolate, would you?”

Frank nodded wordlessly, even though her back was still all he could see. “I’ll just…”

Without another word, he left. Present-Claire sighed heavily, two mugs in hand, and followed after him, her chin held high.

_Christ...she’s a brave wee thing._

“Jamie.”

He jolted, having stared after her long after she left the room with the coffee. He turned around to Spirit-Claire, and she was holding the pearls out to him again.

“It’s time to go.”

He swallowed and walked toward her. “Claire...I...I’m sorry...I didna…”

“Did you think I was happy?” The pearls lowered. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, not at all. It was even, gentle. “Did you think it was somehow easier for me?”

“I...ye’re...ye’re stronger than me, _mo ghraidh._ Ye always have been.”

“Oh, Jamie…” Her face softened, her amber eyes turning liquid.

“Will ye...will ye be gone when I touch these…?”

Claire pursed her lips, nodding.

Jamie exhaled shakily. “Christ...it’s like losing ye again…”

“I’ll be back,” she said softly, but did not elaborate. This was not the first time her spirit had graced his fevered dreams, nor would it be the last, he was sure.

“I love you, Claire.”

“I love you.”

He went to reach for her, to close the distance between them, but she lifted the pearls again, halting him.

“You made our daughter a promise...will you make me a promise?”

Jamie nodded, his chin trembling. “Anything, Claire. Anything.”

“You have to be present for him.”

Jamie blinked dumbly.

“He needs you.”

He swallowed thickly.

“Promise me.”

“I…” Silent tears slipped out again. “I’ll try, Claire. I promise I’ll try.”

She nodded, her lips taut.

“Go on, Jamie. Time is running out.”

He watched the string of pearls dangling, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

“I love you,” he said again, reaching his fingers toward the pearls.

“And I, you.”

His fingers closed around them, and when Jamie fell to his knees in the pitch-black cave, he was met with unfathomable despair. He could still feel the phantom, white-hot touch of his daughter’s little hand, even if he couldn’t hold her himself. But Claire…

_She never touched me._

He wept quietly, all while knowing that the trials of this night were far from over.


	3. Future: M'annsachd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third and final ghost appears to Jamie, familiar, and yet still a stranger.

## 

The longer Jamie sat in the darkness, drowning in his own sorrow, the more he was convinced that perhaps a third spirit was not coming. Both Claire and Faith had said it would, but it seemed to be taking longer than the time between Faith’s disappearance and Claire’s appearance. He began feeling around blindly to light his candle and drag himself back to bed, but then he froze.

Something was glowing behind him.

For a moment, he was afraid to look. His child, born and gone years ago, had been the one to show him his past. His wife, she who still carried his heart showed him their present. So who was there, waiting for him now…?

He slowly turned around, trembling only slightly.

A child stood there, fiery hair tied back and yet uncontainable, donning strange looking, stiff blue trousers and a buttoned wool shirt that resembled a tartan pattern. He recognized the child immediately, older than Jamie had just seen, but the same bairn nonetheless.

“Hi, Da.”

For the third time that night, Jamie had the wind knocked out of him.

“It...is you then?” he said softly. “My...my child?”

“Yup.” The child gave a curt nod. “My sister is of the past, Mama is still your present, but me, I’m your future. So here I am.”

Jamie swallowed thickly, chuckling through his blur of tears. What a confident, bold wee thing. Not at all like the timid sweetness of Faith, but there was a graceful gentleness beneath the surface.

“I...dinna suppose ye could tell me if ye’re a lass or a lad?”

“Nope.”

Jamie sighed sadly.

“Sorry, Da. Couldn’t if I tried. The Spirits took the choice away from me. I can’t even say the words.”

A chill ran down Jamie’s spine.

“The Ghost of Christmas, er, Hogmanay Future is _creepy_ ,” the child said with a shudder. “I hope you get something out of this, because I _don’t_ wanna talk to him again.”

Despite the eeriness of the child’s words, Jamie laughed again. “Ye’ve got yer mother’s tongue, d’ye ken that?”

The child beamed. “Yeah, I know.”

Jamie realized he was still on his knees, but he thought perhaps to stay there, to remain at eye level with his child. _His child_. Not the child that had entered the world and left it without drawing breath, not the child that Claire had wept over, alone and broken. The child he had seen Claire holding, alive and smiling, the child that lived in his present.

And yet he or she was his future.

“Ready?”

“What’ll ye show me, then?” Jamie asked. “Yer sister showed me the family I lost, yer mother showed me what I could lose if I dinna change...what must I see in the future…?”

“Well I can’t explain it,” the child said with exasperation. “Let’s just go.”

He chuckled again, despite his fear and trepidation.

_So bloody fiery._

“Will ye dangle something before my eyes like yer mam?”

“Nah. The spirits said I could hold your hand like Faith did.”

Jamie’s heart soared, and the child reached out a small, delicate hand. “Come on, Da.”

He eagerly took the hand out of sheer joy of touching his child, phantom touch or no, but not necessarily out of excitement to see what it was he had to be shown. The familiar fading away and roiling gut began, finished off by the world reforming around them once more. Their surroundings looked familiar, nearly identical to that Christmas morning that Claire had shown him just before. There were only slight differences in the parlor, and in the woman sitting on the sofa.

Claire’s hair was _entirely_ different, even shorter, and the curls were gone. It was streaked with grey as well.

And she was still so sad.

The air itself seemed different this time, more stifling.

“This is our first Christmas without Daddy,” the child beside Jamie said softly, the softest his or her voice had been yet.

“Wi’out…?” Jamie looked down at the child, then back up at Claire. “He’s to die, then…?”

“Yeah.”

“I…” Jamie stammered, looking down at his bairn again. “I’m sorry, _a chuisle_ …”

The child said nothing, just kept staring at Claire. Jamie noticed immediately that Claire’s sadness was not more magnified than it had been for the last Christmas he’d seen; she was exactly the same. Frank’s passing did not cause her grief, not the way one would think, anyway. It seemed to be just one more thing to add to the list of things weighing her down.

Clomping footsteps on a staircase jolted Jamie from his thoughts. It seemed to jolt Claire as well; she looked up from the mug she’d been staring at and straightened up. When the footsteps did not continue into the parlor, her brow furrowed. She set her mug on a small stable and stood up, leading the spirits that followed her without her knowledge into a hallway that led to the front door. Claire paused, her eyes widening.

There was a tall, lanky young person pulling boots over thick socks and under loose trousers, bundled in a mustard yellow coat, green scarf, and a hat, all layers hiding the length of hair that Jamie knew to be fiery red. Jamie almost sighed with relief; if his child had to lose the only father he or she had ever known, at least it hadn’t been until he or she was nearly grown.

“Where are you going…?”

Jamie almost wept at the sound of Claire’s voice. It was so small and timid. He’d never, never heard any such sound come from her mouth.

“Lenny’s.”

Jamie tried to decide based on pitch and timbre if his child was more male or female, but came up empty again. _She_ could have been a fully grown young woman with a strong, husky voice, or _he_ could have been a newly adolescent lad. It was impossible to tell.

“It’s...still morning. Joe and Gail told me two o’clock.” Claire crossed her arms over her stomach, hugging herself tightly.

“They told _you_ two o’clock,” returned a biting voice, lacing up the boots. “Lenny told me I could come over whenever I wanted.”

“But it’s...Christmas morning,” Claire’s voice was losing strength with every sentence she uttered. “The...presents…”

“I haven’t believed in Santa in nine years, and I can open what you gave me whenever. They’ll still be there tonight.”

Claire swallowed thickly, her eyes glistening. “Ehm...okay…”

“I’ll see you later. Okay?” The young adult straightened, and Jamie finally took in how bloody _tall_ he or she was, towering over Claire nearly as much as he himself did. “I’ll give you your gift when we do the exchange over there. I’ve got it.” He or she patted a coat pocket.

Claire nodded dumbly, lips flapping uselessly for a moment. “Are you...hungry…?”

A shrug. “I’ll grab something when I get there.”

“You don’t want...any of the cookies? Christmas cookies for breakfast, remember? And...hot chocolate…?”

The grown child looked like he or she felt a small, brief flash of guilt. “I’m sorry, Mama...I just...I don’t wanna be here right now. It’s…” Trembling hands stuffed into coat pockets. “It’s too sad.”

“Oh.” Claire’s throat bobbed, and she tightened her grip on her opposite elbows. “Ehm...okay. I...understand.”

“Do you?”

Claire blinked. “What…?”  
  
“Do you really understand?” It was a challenge; blue, cat-like eyes narrowed, chin jutted.

“What on Earth are you implying?”

“It kinda seems like this is just another holiday to you. You know full well it’s _not_. You remembered all the stuff you and I did, but none of the stuff Daddy used to do. Do you even _know_ what that stuff is?”

“I…”

“You’re acting like you don’t even notice he’s gone!” The pale, freckled face turned red, voice raising. “And I’m trying to get out of this damn house because I’m _choking_ on every single reminder, and I’m choking on _you_ not even caring!”

“I care! Of course I care!” Claire’s voice broke, tears finally spilling over.

“Whatever.” The front door was heaved open. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” There was still heat and disdain in that voice, desperately trying to be dampened. “I’ll see you later. Okay?”

Claire opened her mouth, but she seemed to choke on the words, so she closed it again, nodding. “Okay.”

The front door shut, a bit too roughly, and Claire remained frozen in place, seemingly unable to move. She stared at the door for a long while after her child was gone, silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

And then she just turned, slowly making her way back to the couch she’d abandoned, sinking back into it with a sense of finality.

She did not weep, did not sob. Just picked her mug back up, even as silent tears continued to fall, picked up a small, odd looking box and pointed it at a larger, equally as odd looking box, bringing images and sounds to life. Jamie jumped at the sudden light and noise at first, then remembered what Claire had once said about _motion pictures_ , deducing that perhaps they were now things that belonged in households as well.

“I know she loved Daddy,” Jamie’s spirit-child spoke for the first time in a long while, looking sadly at her mother staring blankly at the flashing images of light. “Even on this day, I knew. But I didn’t understand her behavior, and I wanted to hurt her.” The child sounded older, more mature than he or she had been in the cave. “Because she was hurting me. But I know she loved him.”

Claire roughly wiped her eyes and sniffled.

“But I also know she’ll always love you more.” Jamie’s heart twisted. “Even after all those years, she was _still_ more devastated about losing you than she ever was about Daddy.”

Jamie could not stop himself; he walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her, painfully aware of how he was not really sitting beside her at all. He did not even see the strange contraption emitting light and noise; all he could see was light dancing on her too-pale skin and in her glittering, tearful eyes.

“Your puir heart never healed,” Jamie whispered, nearly inaudible, ghosting his hand over the strange shape of her hair, her cheek, her shoulder, feeling nothing beneath his touch.

“Neither did yours,” their child said, her voice feeling like a summer breeze on the back of his neck.

Jamie swallowed thickly, his entire body literally aching with the impossible-to-fulfill need to hold his wife.

“I thought...I thought she’d be happy…” His voice was hoarse. “I ken she grieved, aye, but she...so much time, now...and she never…”

“I certainly didn’t make it any easier,” the child said, slightly guilty, and yet laced with humor. “You really can’t blame me, though. I had no idea what I was talking about.”

Jamie’s lips quirked into a smile despite himself, despite the very image of pain right before him in his love.

“But,” the child went on, plopping down beside Jamie. “You were the love of her life, Da. It got harder and harder to pretend the more time went by. She never got over it. Not here, at least.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed, but he would not tear his eyes off of Claire. “What d’ye mean?”

“Come on.”

Jamie turned to see that his child was reaching for his hand. Jamie looked over his shoulder at Claire, unspoken protest on his lips.

“She’ll be okay, Da.” The child smiled, touching his hand. “You’ll see.”

Jamie whipped his head around to catch one final glimpse of the poor, broken woman his wife had become, his heart lurching as she melted away into nothingness. When the world reformed around them, they were not sitting on a sofa, but they were standing again in a glowing room. There was nothing familiar about this room; Jamie had certainly never been here before. Was this more of Claire’s future, or the child’s…? No, there was _something_ familiar here; there was no _electricity_ , no trace of any of those contraptions littering Claire’s twentieth century home.

The abrupt, loud sound of whooping cheers filled his ears, followed swiftly by a fiddle. That, too, was familiar; midnight had just stricken at a Hogmanay celebration. The room they stood in was empty; the celebrating occurring on the other side of a door. And then that door burst open, an entire gaggle of children pouring in.

“Me first! Me first!”

“Haud yer wheesht, Mandy! I’m older!”

“Well _I’m_ older than _you_ , Jem!”

“Doesna matter, Germain! Ladies first!”

“Grandda! Tell them! Tell them _I_ go first!”

“Christ’s Cross!”

Jamie’s stomach flipped. _That_ voice was _quite_ familiar.

“Ye’re louder than the entire rest of the guests, ye wee heathens!”

Then there he was, _himself_. Jamie’s jaw fell slack; he was wearing a bloody _kilt_.

“This canna be real!” Jamie turned to his spirit-child. “Tartan is outlawed! Ye mean to tell me the bloody king will lift those restrictions?”

“No...he won’t,” the child said sneakily, smiling.

Before Jamie could demand more answers, the sound of French filled his ears, both from several of the children and one of the adults. Jamie whipped his head around to see a grown man and a small blonde hanging on one another, a gaggle of three children swarming their legs.

“Fergus…?” Jamie stepped closer. “And those are all his bairns…? Then whose are…?”

Before his thought could finish, another young man stumbled through the doorway, and Jamie’s heart stopped. There was simply _no way_ that boy was not his son.

Jamie’s lips flapped uselessly for a moment as the young man joined the throng, the red headed little boy called Jem and the lass called Mandy flocking to him.

“That...that’s you, then…?” Jamie said, his head spinning. “Ye’re a lad…? And ye’ll...here…? Wi’ me?”

“Keep watching,” was all the spirit-child said.

More footsteps sounded from the doorway, and a young woman entered on the arm of a dark haired, green eyed man, sending Jamie spiraling again. There was no way _she_ was not his _daughter_.

“Christ! Did yer mam carry twins?”

The spirit-child barked with laughter. “We’re _not_ twins! But I’m not allowed to spoil anything, remember? So I can’t tell you.”

“Then what the devil…?”

Then all other thought ceased as _she_ entered the room.

Yes, this was his time. She was dressed like the blonde woman, Fergus’s wife, he presumed, and like his daughter, no trace of her own time’s fashion. Her hair was loose again, long, curly, and free. She was _smiling_ again, with no trace of that perpetual misery he’d seen only seconds ago. She was on the arm of a handsome man, who, upon hearing him speak, made Jamie’s nose wrinkle.

“Another bloody sassenach?”

The spirit-child laughed again.

Mandy and Jem began calling the young woman _Mama_ , and Jamie’s heart soared to think those were his grandchildren, his blood. But could it even be possible? He’d sent Claire back with child, and his spirit-child had confirmed she’d only been carrying one. Could the spirits be showing him different possible outcomes? Perhaps the lass was Faith, and the lad was the one he’d sent away with Claire, and the spirits truly wanted Jamie to lose himself in a fantasy of perfect loveliness.

No...of course it couldn’t be possible. Claire thought he was dead. There was no way to tell her otherwise, despite all he’d seen tonight. This vision had to be fantasy and nothing more.

And yet as Jamie watched himself, his _older_ self, come alive with light and open his arms to receive Claire...he didn’t give a damn.

She was lovely, radiant. She laughed into a kiss, and Jamie’s head felt lighter, like he was floating. They were both streaked with grey now, as was the man whose arm Claire had walked in on, and even Fergus was greying at the temples.

“Stop kissin’ Grannie!” one of the bairns blurted. “Ye promised presents at midnight, Grandda! It’s been at _least_ two minutes!”

All of the adults burst into laughter, including Jamie and Claire as they broke apart of their public display of affection.

“Aye, alright, alright,” Grandda-Jamie placated, tucking Claire into his side. “Line up, weans, youngest to oldest.”

 _“What?!?_ ”

The older ones all groaned, and the tiny ones clapped with glee. Jamie and Claire laughed again, their heads bowing into one another as they did. One by one, the grandparents handed each of the children boxes, and as they dispersed to tear them open, Jamie sat in a chair by the hearth, pulling Claire into his lap. The children squealed with glee and whooped with delight, waving about wooden swords or toy horses or wee dollies.

Jamie wanted to fall to his knees and weep. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. This entire brood of children had come from his and Claire’s bloodline, adopted or no. This was _his_ family.

He did fall to his knees then.

“Tell me...tell me, _a chuisle_...is this true…? Will this truly be in my future…? My wife at my side again...my child…child _ren_...?”

“These are the shadows of things that may be,” the child said simply. “So...I couldn’t show you something impossible.”

Jamie’s stomach flipped, his heart lurching into his throat. “It’s possible then…? All of...this...?”

“Of course.”

He laughed, truly laughed, a full belly laugh. “Oh, Christ!”

He looked up again to see that three of the children were literally hanging on their grandfather, on _himself_ , and fresh tears poured from his eyes. _So much love in this room_.

“But,” the spirit-child interrupted. “It all depends on you, Da.”

“On...on me…?” He turned his head to look at the spirit.

“Mhmm. Do you think Fergus will want to be here with all his kids if you don’t start treating him like a son?”

Jamie deflated slightly, shame burning him again.

“And do you think you’ll be sitting there with Mama if you let yourself waste away?”

He blinked, tears of a different kind stinging his eyes.

“This...isna certain.”

“It’s the future. Nothing is certain.”

Jamie exhaled with a shudder. “You...how are ye so articulate? Yer sister sounded nothing like that.”

His child giggled. “Faith will always be a baby.”

That shattered his heart in a way he didn’t think possible.

“I’m much older than I look, really. You can see me grown, right now, whichever one I am.” The child winked. “The spirits thought you’d rather talk to me like this. And I like it, too. I liked being this age. And I...I kinda like having to look up at you from down here. I can pretend I didn’t miss an entire life with you.”

His heart went out to his child, longing to press the little body to his chest just as desperately as he’d wished to with Faith. Then he surveyed the scene before him, shrieking children, laughing adults, drinking and clinging to one another, dancing. Christ, he hadn’t danced like that in years, laughed like that. To be that happy again...

“It...it canna be true,” Jamie said finally. “How...how could she come back to me…?”

His child said nothing.

“And...the kilt. It isna possible. I’m...I’m grateful to ye, to the spirits, fer allowing me to see such beauty. But I canna...I canna live thinking that I’ll have...this someday, only to no’ ever have it.” He gestured helplessly before him. “I’m content to believe that this is what Heaven will look like. Wi’ you,” he gestured to the young man, “and yer sister,” he gestured to the young woman, convinced she was Faith, “Yer brother, yer ma, and all yer children. This...this is what awaits me in the Eternal Kingdom. I understand now.”

He looked to his child for confirmation, but he or she merely shrugged, reaching for Jamie’s hand. “Whatever you say, Da.”

And then it was all gone.

When next Jamie opened his eyes, he was in the cave, illuminated by his child’s glowing presence. He was greeted with a sweet smile and a glint in those blue eyes that seemed beyond their years.

“Ye’ll...ye’ll leave me now?”

“Yeah, I have to.”

Jamie sighed shakily, taking a knee before his child. “It has been...an honor to meet ye, _a chuisle_.”

“Same to you.”

Jamie chuckled sadly. “Take care of yer mother.”

“I try.”

“And...dinna forget me. If it’s possible.” His voice broke.

“Don’t worry about that, Da.”

He waited for the child to elaborate, but an explanation did not come.

“I...I ken I’ve known ye such a short time...but I love ye wi’ all my heart. I have since the verra moment I knew yer mother was carrying ye.”

“I know, Da. I love you too, a lot.”

He breathed a teary laugh, his vision blurring. The child’s light began fading.

“You made my sister a promise, and you made Mama a promise. Do I get one?”

“Aye, _mo chridhe_ , of course.”

“Promise me you won’t give up.”

Jamie swallowed thickly, tears spilling over. “Aye...I won’t. I promise...for you, for your ma...I won’t.”

“And for Fergus?”

Jamie bit back a sob. “Aye. For Fergus...for my son.”

A radiant smile, even as the light dimmed lower and lower. “Thanks, Da.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“G’bye, sweet wee lad.”

And there it was; without even thinking, he’d let it slip that he suspected this child was a boy.

His answer was a loud guffaw, followed by an undignified snort. “Goodbye, Da.”

And then he was gone.

_I will name him Brian. After your father._

Jamie closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his mouth taut with pain.

_My sweet wee laddie. My Brian._

All of a sudden, light flickered behind him, and his heart soared, thinking perhaps that one of his loves had returned to him. But it was only his candle. Something, or someone had lit it again.

He relaxed onto his haunches, thinking.

Christ, how long had it been? Was there still time?

Perhaps he could still make it, could find Fergus and lift the lad’s spirits, could find wee Maggie and tell her that he would be honored to accept her Hogmanay gift.

_Now, man. Go now._

He leapt to his feet and yanked on his boots with a clumsiness he did not think himself capable of, then yanked his cloak over his head, concealing himself, just in case. He trekked through the woods, guided by moonlight, and when the sight of the house greeted him, his heart soared. There were swaths of people pouring out of the front door; the first footing was beginning, midnight had only just struck.

He quickened his pace, making for the back door so as to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He looked around aimlessly for a moment, and then made his way to the back stairs.

He needed to make things right with his son first.

He wound up the smaller staircase to the third floor, having seen the lad storm up there when Claire had shown him Hogmanay Present. He reached the shut door, and took a calming breath. He knocked.

“Come in.”

Jamie’s stomach flipped as he pushed the door open. Fergus was looking down, as if expecting one of the weans to enter with gifts, but his eyes raked up to Jamie’s face and lit up.

“Milord,” he said with surprise. “I thought you were not coming?”

“I...I wasna.” Jamie took a few hesitant steps into the room. “But I, uh...I’ve got some things to apologize for, laddie. Some things to make right.”

“Like what?”

Jamie cleared his throat, dropping his cloak and kneeling in front of Fergus where he sat on the bed. His beautiful blue eyes were wider than usual, firelight dancing in them.

_If Claire can push through her grief and be strong for our child, I can do the same for our son._

“I’ve...I’ve no’ been good to ye, lad,” Jamie began, his voice already wavering. “I’ve been wretched, in fact. Ye...ye dinna deserve the...the husk of a man I’ve become.”

Fergus said nothing, just blinked at him.

“When I...When I said I loved ye like a son...I meant it, lad. And I’m sorry I’ve no’ been too great at showing ye.” He brought a trembling hand to cup a cheek that was no longer so little. “Christ...I’m so sorry. I...I ken ye miss her. I’ve been too busy drowning in my own pain and guilt that I havena cared to notice yours. And I’m sorry.”

Fergus’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he unconsciously leaned into Jamie’s touch. “You never speak of her,” he said softly.

“Aye, I ken,” Jamie rasped, a tear rolling down his cheek. “And that isna fair to ye. She was...she _is_ yer mam. Ye deserve to speak of her freely, to feel like she’s still here wi’ ye. I’ve robbed ye of that, and I’m sorry.”

Fergus nodded.

“D’ye...d’ye wish to speak of her now, laddie?”

A tear finally slipped out of Fergus’s eye, and he nodded.

“What…what d’ye miss most about her?”

Fergus sniffled again. “I miss her smile.”

“Aye, she was beautiful.”

“Aye.” Fergus nodded in agreement. “And I...I miss how she held me, at night. It is silly and childish — ”

“No, lad. It isna. No’ at all.” Jamie cupped his other cheek. “She was so tender, so full of love. She loved ye.”

“I know.” Another sniffle.

“And I...I love ye too. I never stopped, even if it felt like I did.” He tenderly brushed Fergus’ tears away with his thumbs, and Fergus abruptly threw his arms around Jamie’s neck.

“I love you too, Milord.”

Jamie wrapped his arms around the lad’s scrawny frame, cherishing every moment. How had he deprived the lad of this comfort? How had he deprived _himself?_ He was so raw and bare that one ounce of affection could have broken him.

And, God, it did.

He fell apart so thoroughly and completely that the lad clung to him tighter, and then they were both crying.

_My son. Our son._

After several minutes, there was a knock at the door, even though Jamie had left it ajar.

“Brother…?”

Jamie gave Fergus one final squeeze before releasing him and turning to see his sister, flanked by Maggie and Kitty.

“Happy Hogmanay, Janet.”

Jenny broke into a wide grin.

“Yer gift, Uncle Jamie!” Maggie squeaked.

“Aye, _mo chridhe_ , why dinna ye fetch it?” Jamie said.

“And yer Da, and yer brothers and sister,” Jenny added as the lassies ran off, squealing.

Jenny shook her head and crossed the room, and Jamie stood up, fiercely folding his sister into him. Jenny let out an undignified yelp of surprise before giving in, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Ye’re a wee bit late, brother.”

“Aye,” Jamie said hoarsely, kissing the crown of her head. “I am. And I am heart sorry.”

Jenny tensed a bit, perhaps sensing that Jamie was apologizing for more than just missing most of the party.

“I love ye, sister. Fiercely.”

He felt Jenny swallow. “I love you too, brother. Even though ye’re a great fool.”

Jamie chuckled wetly, pulling back to look her in the eye.

“What’s brought all this on…?” Jenny asked, her voice tinged with sympathy as she reached up to brush away the tears on her brother’s face.

“I was…reminded,” Jamie looked behind him at Fergus, then at Jenny, and then at the bairns that toppled back into the room, “how fleeting life is, how I havenae been cherishing it properly.”

“Nunkie! Nunkie!” Maggie squealed, tugging on his trousers. “Here!”

“I made one, and Maggie made the other,” Kitty added, twisting her skirt in her hands. 

Jamie took two uneven, sloppily knitted stockings into his hands and pressed them to his heart. “They’re bonny, lassies. Just like you both.” He pressed a fervent kiss to both of their foreheads, and they clung to each other with joy.

“Here, Uncle!” Wee Jamie chimed in, holding up a chunk of wood. “I carved this for ye. Da helped.”

As if on cue, Ian appeared in the doorway, likely struggling to keep up with his wee heathens.

“It’s a horse,” Wee Jamie went on.

“Aye, that it is,” Jamie said, examining it on all sides. “It’s braw, laddie. Thank ye.”

He kissed the lad’s head. Michael and Janet were too wee to make any such thing, so he just gathered them both, each in one arm, and kissed each of their wee cheeks.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Ian said.

“Happy New Year, _a bhalaich_.” Jamie stood and shook his hand, pulling him in for a tight embrace. Ian produced whisky and offered the bottle to Jamie, he took a healthy swig.

“To family,” Jamie called, looking around at the small brood. “To love.” Fergus got up off the bed and stood at his side. “And to life.”

Jamie was reminded of the brood he’d seen of the future, the brood that would never be, and his heart pained him. He did not know how real it was, any of it. He did not know if he’d truly been visited by his dead daughter, his wife and child that he’d sent away. He did not know the truth of any of the visions he’d seen.

But what _was_ real, and true, was the son that he put an arm around, already far too tall for Jamie’s liking, and the tiny wee nieces that wrapped themselves around each of his legs, and the sister that reached down for one of her sweet toddlers.

True or no, those visions had given him something to hold onto, something almost resembling hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Pun intended hehe! Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope you all enjoy your holidays, whatever you celebrate. Thank you again to everyone who helped this come to fruition, and thank you to the lovely ladies involved in 12 Days of OL Christmas for giving me the inspiration and the space to write this! So much love to all!


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